More Than Stars
by mightbeclara
Summary: She'd searched for the stars but found something far more beautiful in him. A series of oneshots based around the Doctor's and Clara's relationship. Rating may change.


_**A/N:** Hey guys! This is the first in a series of oneshots I'll be writing surrounding 11/Clara's relationship. Hopefully I'll get a round to writing a proper, multi-chapter fic at some point but until then feel free to request oneshot ideas in your reviews or on my tumblr (hehasmyback). Please tell me what you think, and I'll try and upload more soon! This is based on 'imagine one making awful breakfast for the other and the other eating it because they appreciate it that much'. Rambled a little, hoping the next one will be better - haven't written in a while! Enjoy!_

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><p>It was a rarity, really, for the Doctor to sleep at all – let alone be found still deep in slumber as Clara awoke herself, back arching, arms stretching as she stifled a yawn and allowed drowsy eyelids to flutter open. Her gaze fell on the figure sprawled out next to her, long limbs taking up more than his fair share of the bed (not that Clara really minded, despite how she insisted otherwise), arm draped lazily across her waist whilst the other hung off the side of the bed. He looked peaceful, she pondered. More so than she'd seem him in a very long time. Perhaps it was his eyes, those big, sad eyes full of so many stories from such a long life. They were old with the burden he carried and with them hidden from sight he seemed so much younger.<p>

Careful not to wake him, aware of what a rare opportunity this was, Clara brushed his fringe from his forehead, fingers light and careful, lips tugged upwards to an ever so soft smile she didn't even know had appeared.

His dreams were not often peaceful but for now he seemed quite content and she knew all too well that this was a time to be treasured, for getting him to actually _stop _and rest for even just a moment was, at times, a fight she'd long ago deemed a lost cause. She couldn't remember the last time he'd slept, not properly. He'd come to bed with her each evening and lay there until she drifted off, sometimes staying (he once commented on how interesting it was to watch her sleep, how beautiful she looked and she could only blush), but mostly sneaking away to tinker with the TARDIS. Sometimes she wondered if he ever broke it himself just for something to fix; she wouldn't put it past him.

But now it seemed that weeks – or perhaps months? – of little rest had taken its toll on even the mighty Timelord and so with great caution she shuffled out of his hold, legs swinging over the side of the bed, pulling on a discarded shirt that had been left on the floor from the night prior.

It was in the kitchen that she found herself, after much searching (she swore the TARDIS moved rooms more than the Hogwarts bloody staircases changed), rummaging through the fridge in search of something even slightly edible as the kettle came to a boil. The problem, she'd discovered long along, with having an alien for a boyfriend was that the Doctor didn't have much in the way of consideration for basic human needs. The sleeping thing he knew, from past companions, that despite his reluctance to break from adventure for even a couple of hours Clara _did need sleep. _Food, however – well, he didn't exactly go grocery shopping, and it wasn't as if she could pop to the nearest supermarket whilst he slept.

Normally it wasn't a problem, normally he'd take her to sixteenth century Paris for lunch or some new planet for dinner (although that was almost always interrupted by some life-threatening emergency he'd managed, once again, to stumble upon). However it _was _a problem when it was nine o'clock in the morning and she was unwilling to wake him up, knowing that if he was still asleep he must really need it, despite her stomach grumbling in protest.

No, she decided, pulling out what she could salvage from the mainly empty (and somewhat weird smelling) fridge. _I'll just have to take this into my own hands. _

Clara wasn't the only one who had rules regarding love, and more noticeably the avoidance of it. She wasn't the only one to have suffered heartache, to know oh too well how the loss of those closest to you sat in your heart. Even worse with two, he mused. Even more possibility for heartbreak (and with over a thousand years of experience such things couldn't be avoided forever).

No, the Doctor knew better than most the fear that pain inflicted upon you, the reluctance to once again open up yourself to such a thing, to let go and put that amount of trust in another, knowing it doesn't always end well despite the best intentions.

He had never meant to fall for Clara, that wasn't part of the plan. Her dimples hadn't meant to endear him so, nor did he realise that the sound of her laughter would some day bring him such joy. It was not his intention to allow her in; it wasn't her intention to do so either. But they'd both fallen, oh how they'd both fallen spectacularly and incredibly in love. She'd searched for the stars but found something far more beautiful in him.

It wasn't meant to be this way and yet neither could bear to consider otherwise.

It wasn't meant to be this way and yet as the Timelords eyes flickered open, wincing ever so slightly against the harsh contrast of the warm-yellow light surrounding him, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of a rather petite woman standing at the edge of their bed. Tray in hand, hair still ruffled from sleep, his own shirt enveloping her small frame. He couldn't help but ponder on how beautiful she looked in the mornings, briefly wondering how he ever could bear to wake up without her.

And so when she pushed the pancakes (could he really call them that?) in front of him with a proud grin and asked for a verdict he decided that the look in her eyes certainly outweighed the more than slightly suspicious cooking, that despite being far more than a little golden (burnt was a more accurate description) the forced smile he gave to hide his grimace was certainly worth it.

If she ever asked he would claim that the seal of approval he gave was simply to avoid the possibility of her anger if he said otherwise – for someone so small she had quite a temper on her - but really it was far more about the warm sensation in his stomach as she slipped back in bed beside him, the familiar comfort of her next to him more than he could ever have wanted.


End file.
